


American Remedies

by Taste_of_Suburbia



Category: From Paris with Love (2010)
Genre: Angst, Comforting Wax, Established Relationship, Family, Fluff, Food Poisoning, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Partners to Lovers, Romance, Sick Reece, Sickfic, Trope Bingo Round 13, Wax's bad eating habits, h/c_bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 06:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20205421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_of_Suburbia/pseuds/Taste_of_Suburbia
Summary: Wax, apparently, had a stomach of iron.





	American Remedies

**Author's Note:**

> Written for h/c_bingo for the prompt [Food Poisoning](https://immolate-the-silence.dreamwidth.org/34933.html). 
> 
> Also written for [Trope Bingo](https://immolate-the-silence.dreamwidth.org/37096.html) for the Free Space square (Hurt/Comfort). 
> 
> I kept this short ‘cause this prompt is kinda a trigger for me now after a recent bout of food poisoning; hope it isn’t too rushed.

Reece was in  _agony. _

Having realized from the first five hours that the nausea was  _infinitely _ worse than the actual vomiting, he laid there sprawled out on the cold tile floor and prayed for the latter to come back. He had tried  _everything _ to get himself to throw up again: fingers, toothbrush, salt and water solution, only to realize his body wasn’t having it. The overwhelming urge to empty the - by now - hollow contents of his stomach was driving him rabid with desperation. 

He deluded himself into thinking there wasn’t an end in sight, that he’d never be warm again, that he’d never eat again.

Of course, he was  _never _ touching seafood again. 

It was bound to happen with Wax’s careless eating habits and his relentless peer pressure for Reece to follow suit.

Of course, Reece didn’t know how the man himself had managed to skirt by with no side effects; then again, he tried not to think about it after realizing it wasn’t going to make him feel better. Wax must have a stomach of iron and that was that. Come to think of it,  _everything _ about the guy seemed to be ironclad or bulletproof or however one wanted to phrase it, and all it did was manage to make Reece feel pathetically human and weak and all too responsible for his own suffering. 

Wax was jabbering on in the other room: probably on the phone, or maybe there was a game on the TV, either way Reece didn’t care, only wanted him to  _stop_ . He just wanted some quiet, some time to work his way through all this, where someone - specifically his  _partner _ \- wasn’t five steps away from barging in on Reece’s embarrassing display. 

Couldn’t Wax just go out and tail somebody or something? Or go get a coffee or something to eat and…? oh god…

Waves of ice roiled through his stomach, acid burning at the back of his throat as Reece, praying feverishly in between helpless, hiccuping sobs, pushed himself further over the toilet bowl, eager for the waiting to be over. After unendurable seconds of waiting, counting unhelpfully, he collapsed against the porcelain which managed to feel even colder than before, though it seemed to be the only thing helping him to remain somewhat upright.

“That’s the last time I buy fish and chips from a place I don’t know.” Wax quipped with his usual lack of grace, his abrupt and booming voice flaring up Reece’s anxiety and bathing him in yet another cold layer of sweat.

Reece couldn’t manage turning, couldn’t manage  _moving _ really, and figured it was best not to after the lights started ominously flickering forty minutes back and the tile began to ripple beneath his knees too soon after. The sharp and stuttered sobbing, excessive shaking and strained whimpers weren’t feasible options to manage either. 

And the fact that Wax was most likely taking all of this in was  _not _ helping. “You okay down there, pard?” If Wax would just shut up for a good ten minutes or so, then perhaps Reece would be able to breathe  _normally. _

Reece regretted the insult almost instantaneously as his partner pressed something amazingly warm against the back of his neck, chuckling as the recipient shivered in near pleasure at the sensation. It was probably nothing more than a scrap of towel dunked in warm water, but the fact that Wax was trying to do  _something _ to make Reece feel better translated to  _oceans _ of gratitude. 

“Thanks, Wax,” he mumbled, cheek resting once more on the lid of the disgusting motel toilet seat. He was  _long _ past being self-conscious of germs, and so was Wax judging by his prolonged, generous kisses to Reece’s hair and exposed cheek. 

“You think you’re up for some good ol’ saltines and ginger ale? Nothing beats American remedies.”

Having gone from cursing Wax in irritation to praising his genius, Reece felt his sore mouth curl upward in the faintest sliver of a smile.

**FIN**


End file.
